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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27141424">Sleeper Agent</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luna_Bass/pseuds/Luna_Bass'>Luna_Bass</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU after OotP, Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:09:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,500</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27141424</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luna_Bass/pseuds/Luna_Bass</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Wizarding Cold War AU – feel free to use or adapt for your own fics! There are literally no limits and no canon!</p><p> </p><p>The War against the Dark Lord Voldemort has raged for years now – in the year 1997, Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore waged and won an historic battle against the Dark Lord on the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry that drove him and the majority of his followers out of the United Kingdom. Taking refuge in Ireland and slowly taking hold of the Irish Ministry, the Death Eaters are now stoking the embers beneath the slow-brewing beginnings of a war between Wizarding Ireland and Wizarding Britain. Only Dumbledore, Potter, and their independent militia known as the Order of the Phoenix, operating in their Scotland home base located in Hogwarts Castle, know that the true culprit is the Dark Lord and his associates, and are continuing their top-secret mission to destroy him once and for all... </p><p>Unbeknownst to them, right under their very nose, a hidden threat watches.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Wizarding Cold War</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sleeper Agent</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">August 31st, 2002 – Newquay, Cornwall, England.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
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</p><p>The plan had been months in the making. Ten long, agonizing, arithmancy-filled, headache-inducing, sleepless, secret months in the making.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <br/>
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</p><p>But that had been easy, by comparison. All that hard work was about to pay off now. No, the hardest part was deciding <em>who</em> to use, who would be so closely tethered to his mind and his mind alone, the only agent he could possibly trust. Only he could know of their existence, and they would report only to him, and him alone. His faith in Severus was beginning to wear thin, after all – the man was too jaded, too canny and wary. He could decide at any moment he was better off in Dumbledore's hands, and who wants a spy that much at risk of turning?</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <br/>
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</p><p>No, it had to be someone else, someone <em>incapable</em> of betraying him. What was more, it had to be a stranger, a newcomer to the playing field. Someone the other side had no reason to suspect - who would have no reason to suspect <em>themselves</em>, even. Easily confused, easily molded, easy to give instructions to and have them obey without questioning themselves.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>A Hufflepuff was perfect. A Muggleborn, even better. A student at a formative age, perhaps fifth-year or so – not so old their sense of self would be iron-clad, not so young they would be too frightened by tasks ahead. A potential recruit for the Order, but not one so outstanding that Dumbledore or Potter or even, supposedly, Lord Voldemort himself, would take much notice. They needed to have few friends, so that few would notice any change. Not an outcast, not a popular icon, not an exemplary student or a sub-par one – utterly average, escaping notice on nearly every level.</p><p>
  <br/>
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</p><p>
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</p><p>He had expected such a combination to be impossible to find, but he turned out to be lucky - the perfect candidate was waiting practically in his own backyard.</p><p>
  <br/>
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</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>~</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <br/>
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</p><p>Bethany Ogletree wasn't Cornish, but she had lived in Newquay as long as she could remember. Her parents had moved there from Oxford when she was born, and afterwards spent as little time together as possible, and even less time with her.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>She had no siblings – Bethany's birth had been an unpleasant surprise for everyone, including Bethany – and her parents were only married for tax purposes, since they'd been forced to compromise and raise her together due to pressure from their <em>own</em> parents (who, satisfied with the results, had no intention of involving themselves with their grandchild's life either). Her mother and father had had every intention of putting in the bare minimum of what was needed to give her a start in life until she was eighteen, whereupon they could happily divorce, jaunt off to Europe and America respectively, and pretend the last twenty years had never happened.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Bethany would then be given a small and temporary expense account and some advice on moving up the ladder as a shop clerk, and then left to rot until someone took pity on her, and either married her or gave her a better opportunity.</p><p> </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>So when, in the later half of 1998, a strange woman came to the door with a letter proclaiming that Bethany was a witch, the Ogletrees were less than pleased. Suddenly, the child they'd unintentionally conceived required much more care than they had planned for, and they expressed resentment of this to an eleven-year-old Bethany, who apparently had no idea how to stop being a witch. They grudgingly provided for her as chaperones to Diagon Alley and King's Cross, and refused to give her absolutely anything else.</p><p> </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>When she was first Sorted, Bethany had no idea what direction she was supposed to take, what traits she ought to value. She had never felt any kind of stable foundation on which to build her own values – she had always just clung desperately to whatever her peers were doing, and hoped it didn't turn out to backfire on her.</p><p> </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>And so, she ended up in Hufflepuff, a House founded with the ideals of loyalty and hard work, (things that could be learned, and not just be innate traits) by a woman who looked kindly on misfits, witches and wizards left behind by other groups, and the ones her fellows had deemed 'not good enough,' giving them a place to flourish and come into their own alongside their peers.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>In modern times, it had become a glorified club for social butterflies, who only cared to have the most popular friends, an irony utterly lost on almost everyone.</p><p> </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>For four years, Bethany grew up with the acquaintances she shared a dormitory with, in the fearful and uncertain atmosphere of a Wizarding Britain caught in what was being dubbed a magical Cold War. She lived for the days when she was acknowledged at all, and dreaded the days when she felt lost and had no one to fall back on. Her existence was uniquely miserable, an exercise in futile mediocrity.</p><p> </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>But one day, that all changed.</p><p> </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>On September 1st, 2002, Bethany woke up feeling <em>different</em>. Not worse, not better, just – different.</p><p> </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>At first, she presumed it was because today was the first day of the new school year, especially since this year she was going to be taking her OWLs.</p><p> </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>But as she quickly gathered her things and got onto the train to London by herself (her parents had told her she was old enough to make the trip herself, when she went for her third year) Bethany realized that this didn’t feel like excitement or nervousness. This feeling was different, more... purposeful. Like she knew exactly what she was doing, where she was going, and what she was supposed to do when she got there. Even though really, she didn't.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>So once again, odd, but not unpleasant. Some other part of her kept pushing her questioning thoughts away, dismissing it as just a newfound confidence, but that didn’t seem right, especially considering she had spent the last evening throwing up from nerves. But she felt taller, walked with a straight back - somehow, she now had a job to do, and she was going to do it <em>right</em>.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Bethany got off at King's Cross, passed through the barrier at 9 ¾, and boarded the train with half an hour to spare. She quietly entered her usual compartment (which just had the Hufflepuff girls of her year), as she had every single time before. Bethany stowed away her luggage, and then she sat down, and she waited.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Bethany had no clue what she was even waiting for, but as the train began to move and the station passed by, shrinking into the distance and being replaced by idyllic country scenery, she kept her gaze firmly staring out the window.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>As best she could tell, she was waiting for a landmark. Funnily enough, the closer the thing she was waiting for got, the less insistent the part of her that pushed the questions away became. It made it easier to make guesses.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The fields turned to greenery, and the terrain gradually became more rocky and sheer. As she caught a glimpse of the sea on the horizon, Bethany found herself standing up, excusing herself to the loo. She did not, in fact, have to use the loo, but for some reason it was important that her seatmates have no reason to believe she was anywhere else. The other girls barely acknowledged this, given that they were in the middle of an animated discussion about whether Toby Adair's trousers had, in fact, slipped off during a Quidditch match last year, and if he had been wearing anything underneath.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Bethany slid the door shut behind her, cutting off the gossip. A new piece of knowledge revealed itself to her. She had to go find seventh-year Gryffindor prefect, Dennis Creevey.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>She'd barely been aware he existed up till now, so as she cast a Disillusionment Charm on herself, checked her watch, (2:15) and went to search the train for him, Bethany wondered whatever she could want him <em>for</em>. Not knowing what she wanted wasn't new, but somehow it was now <em>exciting</em>. Instead of feeling like a ship adrift and directionless, she felt like she was following a treasure map, or exploring an uncharted island.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>As she made it to the front of the train and doubled back to search the other end, her footsteps began to hasten, and she cast a silencing charm on herself as well. Time was of the essence; she had to find him, and <em>quickly</em>. And yet somehow, it was even <em>more</em> important that <b>she had no reason to panic</b>, and that at all costs, <b>she must remain calm.</b></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>And so, Bethany remained calm.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>She neared the end, and spotted Creevey coming out of the boy's loo in the second-to-last car before the caboose. Bethany was flooded with relief as she drew closer, Creevey turning to head to his compartment and -</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>She drew her wand. <em>Stupefy,</em> she said, the incantation silenced, but the spell still effective. There was no one around to witness a bolt of red light shoot out of nowhere and hit Dennis Creevey in the back, sending him tumbling down to the floor. She cast another Disillusionment and a Featherlight on him, slung him over her shoulder, and carried on to the caboose.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Bethany had never been in the caboose of the Hogwarts Express before – she had no idea what it was even for, but as she unlocked the door and entered with the unconscious and abducted Dennis Creevey, she got to find out. So far as she could tell, it was storage, magically expanded to an immense size – it was packed with crates of food, parchment, and supplies, and as she squeezed her way to the very end of the train, Bethany snagged a desk chair that she felt might be helpful for tying Creevey to. It was sort of a natural continuation of a kidnapping, wasn't it? She'd never abducted anyone before – what bold new territory this was for her!</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>At the very end, there was another door, unlocked as easily as the first. It opened to the back of the moving train – there was a small porch that was open on one side, and it was here that Bethany knew her business was to be conducted. She removed the charms on them both, set down Creevey and the chair, tied him up with another simple spell after taking and snapping his wand, throwing the pieces over the side, and checked the scenery, glancing at her watch. 2:58. Satisfied with everything, Bethany finally cast <em>Ennervate</em>.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Creevey sputtered into the waking world. “What the hell -”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Let's make this quick.” Bethany, hanging onto the railing of the porch, hooked one of her ankles into the leg of the chair, pushing it dangerously close to the edge of the moving train as Creevey yelped. “I want to know where your leader is planning to send the strike team on the fifteenth. Where they enter, when they enter, and when and where they leave. Tell me now, and no one needs to get hurt.” The words flowed from her – she had never been so well-spoken before in her life, and she had no clue where these questions were even coming from, but she was <em>loving</em> being this new, self-assured person, and felt like she hadn't a care in the world except for what was right in front of her.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Creevey narrowed his eyes. “Who the fuck are you? I'm not telling you shite! You think you can threaten me, kid? Have at it! Professor Dumbledore and the rest of the Order'll kick your arse! Don't think <em>he'll</em> protect you – he'll drop you like the traitor rubbish you are.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Bethany pushed aside the fact that she didn't know what the hell he was talking about, and persisted, because it wasn't important what <em>she</em> did or didn't know – only what <em>he </em>knew. “Strike team. Fifteenth.” She took out her wand, and pushed the chair so it was teetering over the edge, held there only by her foot. “Talk.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“If you know about the fucking strike team, then you already fucking know!” Creevey spat. “So what are you doing, trying to scare me?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He was doing a remarkable job of hiding his fear, and Bethany noted that it was strange that she knew this, but filed it away for later, for the sake of expediency. “Humor me. I'd like to hear you say it.” She pointed her wand at his bound fist. “Don't make me force you. It'd be so much easier if you just told me, you know,” Bethany coaxed, “I'd Obliviate you afterwards and send you on your way. This doesn't have to get any worse.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Creevey licked his lips (nervously, she noticed) and he took a brief, telling glance towards the landscape behind him – or, more accurately, under him, as the train was taking a rapid and winding trip along the edge of a set of rocky cliffs that made a sheer drop hundreds of feet into the valley below. If Bethany's threat was to be believed, he had to think fast.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“The northern end of the alley, at noon. They make their way out at sundown when they're finished, same way.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Liar.” Bethany pushed him further, and he cried out as the back legs of the chair slid onto the first step of the porch with a threatening <em>crack</em>. She pointed her wand at his fist again, uttering a curse she hadn't known before she said it, and Creevey <em>screamed</em>, the cry echoing off the walls of the valley and yet somehow still being drowned out by the sound of the train. His knuckles purpled under his skin, hemorrhaging inside his fist.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“It's nine! 9 A.M., from the north! The plan's to escape an hour later from the south and Portkey back to London! Please, God, Merlin, <em>just let me go, you little psycho!</em>”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>This, she somehow knew, was the truth as Dennis Creevey knew it. “Thank you. You've been very helpful.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>And with that, she kicked the chair off the porch, and in the space of an instant, as his eyes widened in mortal fear, Bethany cast Diffindo on his neck, severing his head from his shoulders as his body and the chair both tumbled into the valley below, vanishing from sight before she could even register the fall.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>There was terror in her bones, even as she cast Disillusionment and Silencio on herself again, practically running back through the caboose, through the carriages, to her own compartment. She checked her watch – 3:15.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Bethany desperately wanted to just be frozen to the spot, to scream, to faint, to fully realize the utter <em>horror</em> of what she had just <em>done</em>, but <b>time was still of the essence, and at all costs, she had to remain </b><span class="u"><b>calm</b></span>.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>She made it back, removed the spells, and slid back inside.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>No one had even seemed to notice she was gone – the conversation had moved on to Professor Dumbledore's Defense Club, and who was still joining this year. Bethany slid back into her seat, surreptitiously pushing aside another of her yearmates, and stared out the window at the rocky landscape.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>She could just barely see the place where the train had just been, could almost see the little black dot so very far below – and then the Hogwarts Express rounded a corner, and it was all out of sight, out of mind.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Bethany found herself frowning out the window. She could've sworn she'd just felt a sense of – dread?</p><p>That strangely wasn't in keeping with the newfound confidence she'd woken up with this morning. Why would she have felt dread?</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Something had happened – she'd <em>done</em> something, just before coming back into the compartment.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>But that was impossible, a very big, very noticeably loud part of her told herself. She'd just been in the loo, and that was all that drew her away from the compartment.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>But... wasn't that an awfully long time to be in the -</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>She'd been to the loo, and that was all. She remembered leaving the compartment, going to the loo, using the facilities, and coming back. </b>
  <span class="u">
    <b>That was all.</b>
  </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>(And deep, deep down, in a part of Bethany's mind that <em>could</em> think complex thoughts without using actual words, this rather gave her the idea that that <em>absolutely</em> wasn't all.)</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>That night, she slumped into bed, exhausted. Bethany was tired, so tired, and as the girls around her stayed up late catching up about their summer holidays, her eyes drooped shut –</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>And opened to a familiar place.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Bethany was standing on the train tracks, looking down the route the train had come, Hogwarts Castle far, far behind her – and just ten feet away, still on the tracks, there was a small table with two chairs, and a silver tea set. </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>She recalled everything that had happened the day before with perfect clarity, and it didn't alarm her in the slightest. </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>She walked forward, and took a seat. On the other side, an empty chair waited. So, she, too, waited.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>An enormous amount of time seemed to pass by, hours and mere seconds all at once. The tea in the pot remained steaming, the wind and weather did not change, and Bethany was still, patiently, waiting.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>And then, slowly, a figure in the distance approached.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>As it gradually drew closer, she saw that it was a man, dressed in dark robes. Certainly not young, but unlikely to be old. His face seemed vaguely familiar, though Bethany couldn't put a pin on where she'd seen it. </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>He finally arrived, pulled out the chair, and sat across from her. </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>He took his time, not bothering to greet her, but pouring the tea, as it seemed he was the host – he didn't fix it for her, and there was no cream or sugar in the set. That wasn't how Bethany took her tea, but somehow she didn't mind at all – she did nothing but sit, posture perfect, a polite expression on her face. </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Finally, as he took a sip of his tea with a deep sigh, he looked at her. “Report,” he said, his voice clipped and stiff.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Bethany complied. “The strike team will be entering at the north at 9 A.M., and escaping at 10 A.M., from the south, and then from Ireland by Portkey as opposed to Apparition. Dennis Creevey has been eliminated.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>He sucked in a breath through his teeth. “He was off by an hour. They could have changed it in the meantime... I suppose time will tell if he ever updates with the truth. Where and how did you eliminate Creevey?”</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“<em>Here, on the train, with a Diffindo to cut off his head.”</em></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>He hummed a little at this, seemingly pleased. “Smart. It's a liminal space – makes it more difficult to detect harmful spells via Trace.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“<em>Thank you, I thought so too.” And Bethany took a sip of her tea, enjoying his raised eyebrow and the unaltered flavor of darjeeling. Somehow, in this dream space, she could see all the layers of awareness her mind had been working on the previous day, and she knew that she had, in fact, thought of this and planned much of it herself, though the man in front of her had provided her with the mission. The layer she was on now, the ultimate layer, was cut off at all times except from here. Awake, and not even she would know what she had planned for her future.</em></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“<em>And the body?” he asked, meeting her eyes with a serious gaze. Bethany nodded to her right, at the chasm below, and she knew as he leaned over to look, he could see the corpse dashed on the rocks at the bottom.</em></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“<em>Impressive.”</em></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“<em>They shouldn't think anything is wrong until tomorrow morning. There's a lot of excuses people will make for each other, after all.” Having drunk the last golden drop of tea, Bethany looked around at the small table, and couldn't help but feel that something in this little setup was missing. “They'll talk to his friends, and if not them, his parents, and they'll realize he went missing on the train. It'll take them days to search the tracks.”</em></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“<em>By which point, you'll have thrown off suspicion, I hope?” he stated, turning back to look down at her.</em></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“<em>Of course. I already have a target in mind to take the fall.” And to Bethany's pleasant surprise, looking into the many layers of her mind, she did.</em></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“<em>Good.” And he, too, drained the rest of his tea, and stood. “Next contact, report on how that goes. Stand by for further orders.”</em></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“<em>Yes, sir,” she said compliantly, as he turned away, leaving the way he came. As he vanished into the highland mists, Bethany also stood up, pushed in her chair, and left in the opposite direction.</em></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>And when she woke, she remembered nothing - only a determined, self-satisfied sense of purpose.</p>
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